Digging Deeper
by Dreaming-Of-A-Nightmare
Summary: In which Richie digs deeply within himself for answers and control over his hormones, and Virgil digs within others for answers, but doesn't bother to hold back his hormones..:.UBER long VR slash oneshot. CONTAINS SMUT. Yes, much of the lemony goodness.


**A/N: OMG, I worked all day on this!! It's probably the longest smut-shot I have ever written. _Ever._ And probably one of the sweetest, most perverted one ever. So y'all better appreciate this! **

**Warnings: Possible OOC-ness?, masturbation, GAY SEXXX, and hints of other things. Enjoy! XD**

**On another note, I simply LOVE writing in Richie's POV. 'Tis fun pretending to see through the eyes of my baby. :D (I have many cartoon/anime babies, all men of which I fangirl. Dunno why, either, 'cause half of them are extremely nerdy or awkward or goofy or dorky or all fo the above. Like, for example, Sheldon from My Life As A Teenaged Robot. I ADORE him, but he's one of those "all of the above" cases. Go Figure.)**

**[/clears throat to end late-night ramble] Excuse me. It's 4:03 in the morning and I ish sleepy. So me ish gonna end this A/N nao, hokay? Hokay.**

* * *

_It's not unusual to think about someone you know when you pleasure yourself, _I remind my over-analytical brain.

But it likes to argue with me.

It retorts with,_ 'Yeah, but it is unusual when that person is your best friend. Your _male_ best friend, who has a completely straight sexual orientation, unlike _you_.'_

I want to be childish. I want to tell my stupid brain, _So what?_ Because I already know that it's not within the norm. I'm well aware of the fact that I'm technically making excuses for myself in the base of my mind while the front of my mind swirls with images of mocha skin sliding along my own and a low voice humming in my ear as dark hair hangs around my face like a curtain.

None of it will ever happen, but that doesn't stop me from indulging for a short while. It doesn't stop me from temporarily pretending that I can possess the one thing I want more than anything else the entire universe has to offer.

I don't even know if it's lust or love any longer, because it feels like I'm drawn both ways to Virgil. When I look at him, I want smile until my face breaks, and my heart flips. But when there is any sort of friction between us, contact from hands touching shoulders to a short hug, I can't stop the jolt of arousal that dips for merely a millisecond down below my waist. It always fades quickly, because I immediately feel too guilty about it to let it last, but I don't bother to when I'm alone.

I don't like what follows my climax, though. I don't like the hollow feeling I get, the loneliness and guilt that weigh on me. Because it's then that I remember the hands I feel moving around me are my own, not Virgil's. It's when I remember that it's disgusting, the craving I have for him. Disgusting in more ways than one, as much as I try to reassure myself otherwise.

The pressure builds, and I feel myself falling off the edge. I picture a low moan of my own name, loud enough in my ear to make it ring.

(Sometimes having such an advanced mind makes the illusions dangerously realistic.)

The heat spreads, and as I sink to the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, the fantasy dissolves as I open my eyes. I pull my hand away, clenching it into a frustrated fist before forcing my jellied legs up to stand in front of the sink.

I don't dare look at myself in the mirror hanging above, because I know what I'll see: sweaty forehead, matted blond hair, slipping glasses, blue eyes becoming less dark as the pleasure fades with the dull rhythm of the final throbs of my blood rushing from my heart. I don't want to see myself look like that, because I know the dirty things I think in order to become that way. And I hate it, because in another hour and a half, I'll have to face the person I was just mentally screwing with.

I wish it didn't have to be like this. I wish I could like someone else, or stick to magazine pictures and porn on the internet like the majority of the young male population of the world. But no, I have to be different. Isn't there enough difference in my life? Isn't there enough abnormality with my being a superhero and mega-genius? Do I seriously have to also be a homosexual that daydreams about the person that means everything to me?

_Sadly enough, _I think as I wash my hands thoroughly and strip of my sweaty clothing by kicking off my pants and boxers, _I do have to be that different, too. Because I can't see myself being any other way. It's unavoidable, I suppose. _

Virgil is everything I could ever ask for in a partner. We're almost always thinking on the same wavelength, and because of this, we understand each other completely. I know all there is to know about him, and he knows everything about me, with the exception of my feelings for him. He's all those things that girls love, too; funny, smart, attractive. It helps that I get his humor better than anyone else, and both helps and makes it worse (for me) that part of his attractiveness increased when he started becoming Static. His lean build became muscular, and now it stays that way. Even my own body has changed since I've been running around the streets as Gear, but my body isn't like Virgil's. Never will be; I'm lanky to begin with, whereas he isn't.

I yank off my white tee and step into the shower, eager to rid myself of the sweaty, sticky grime. I don't bother to adjust the water when it burns me, because I figure that I'll get a whole lot cleaner if the water is a bit too hot.

When I'm done, I step out again, fog blurring my already smeary vision. I walk over to the light switch and flip on the fan to clear it out. Wiping a hand on the mirror, I inspect my face, blinking as I notice that all the lust has gone, and I'm just a normal teen again with wet hair plastered to his head.

I dry myself off quickly, slather on some lotion, and scrub my hair to nearly dry, not stopping to comb the newly ruffled spikes as I toss my clothes in the hamper and tie my towel around my waist.

I open the bathroom door, enjoying the fact that I can walk in solely a towel to my room without my parents around. They're both gone, and will be for a few more hours. Dad's at work and Mom's out running miscellaneous errands, you know, like going to the grocery store and post office and bank and wherever else she needs to in order to keep this family functional for everyday activities. Before she left, I reminded her to get toilet paper because we're running low, and some deodorant for me and disposable razors for Dad.

As I pace down the length of the hallway to my room, the front door downstairs suddenly bursts open, and I freeze in place, with my hand on my doorknob.

"Sorry for comin' early, Rich, but I thought you wouldn't…" The visitor looks up, his mouth falling open for a second. "Care," he finishes lamely. He blinks before adverting his eyes. I quickly flee to the sanctuary that is the inside of my room, practically slamming the door shut behind me.

Great, the last thing I need is for Virgil to see me naked. Well, maybe not entirely naked; the towel was covering the important parts, but it was awfully low, enough so that one of my hipbones was exposed. Oh, jeez. Hope I didn't scar him for life. We took a bath together once when we were kids, but come on, we were four or five years old and were only in there together because we were covered from head to toe in baking flour from when Virgil's mom was making pumpkin pie. It's not like, at the time, we realized what it meant to be naked in front of someone who wasn't blood-related.

I dress hurriedly, the towel dropping as soon as my door is locked. Not that I expect him to waltz up here and come in when he knows how far I am from being presentable. It's just, y'know, a closure thing. I need to feel like my room is a fortress while I scramble to get clothes on.

Hop into clean Pacman boxers, slide on clean white socks, slide baggy khakis over my legs, pull a green long-sleeved shirt of my head, and then a black tee over it for the layering effect I wear out of habit. Then, slowly, take a breath and unlock the door to open it for my guest.

Virgil's already there, an unreadable grin on his brown face. "You should learn to take your showers at least three hours before I show up, Rich. Ya never know when I'll pop by."

I roll my eyes as I take my glasses off my dresser and shove them in place on my nose. "I'll keep that in mind," I shrug casually to hide my embarrassment.

When my gaze returns to him, Virgil's holding up a bag from Blockbuster. "Know what I have right here?" he inquires with an amused lift in his eyebrow.

"Do tell," I say as I exit my room and head to the living room downstairs where the entertainment center is. Virgil follows me, his socked feet thumping dimly down the steps.

"I have in my hand, good sir, two weeks' worth of allowance down the drain to make due for the longest movie marathon of our lives, beginning with all the Ninja Turtles movies."

I raise an eyebrow with interest as Virgil plops down on my couch and tosses the bag down onto the table. "Aren't you worried that the marathon will be interrupted by a crime alert from Backpack?" I ask as I turn on the television and DVD player.

Virgil shakes his head. "Nahhh. Almost every Bang Baby got the cure, remember? It's been quiet around here, and half the stuff we help with doesn't even need our help because it's normal humans making the crimes, which is nothing the police can't handle. So I figure we're due for a break."

I nod. It makes sense, I guess. I pop in the first Teenaged Mutant Ninja Turtle movie, and while 80's music comes on over the speakers, I ask Virgil if he wants something to drink or eat.

"A bowl of popcorn with dark chocolate Raisinets and a side order of Doritos, please," he demands. "Oh! And a glass of Sunny D. Chop-chop."

I snort. "We don't even have any of that stuff. The popcorn, maybe, but that's it."

Virgil flashes a grin. He gets up and goes into the foyer by his shoes and throws yet another bag at me, which thankfully is knotted at the top so the contents don't spill out. Curious, I open the heavy bag and find a box of Act II popcorn, two boxes of Raisinets, a six pack of Sunny D in plastic bottles, and a tall bag of sweet 'n' spicy chili-flavored Doritos. Then, at the far bottom corner of the bag, I spot a sliver of blue. I pull it out to find three small packs of Black Jack gum. It's hard to find, but it's one of my favorite chewing gums; it's the flavor of black licorice, and has the perfect softness when you chew it. I smile at it.

A low whistle escapes my throat. "Wow, V. Looks like you have everything planned out.".

He returns to the couch. "You bet your ass I do. We've been kinda busy these past few weeks with finals and other stuff, and it's been buggin' me that we haven't been able to hang out as much." Virgil brings a fake pout to his lips and dramatically places a hand over his heart. "I've, like, missed you terribly!" he says in a falsetto, purposely mocking a cheesy chick flick girl of the long-lost-best-friend variety.

I laugh as I take the contents out of the bag and move into the kitchen to get plastic bowls to serve his order, as well as to pop the popcorn in the microwave.

While the microwave hums and the trickling of Raisinets falling into a bowl fills my ears, I sigh to myself, because although I laughed it off, as I walked away I caught Virgil sending me a questioning look because he saw the blush that formed on my cheeks when he said that he missed me. Because we both know that, joking girly voice aside, he meant it. He really did miss me. And it's stupid, because without having to say a word, he comprehended exactly how much I missed him, too. Which isn't the best thing for me, seeing as how it might reveal my true sentiments towards him. I know that Virg is only joking, but sometimes his jokes hit a little too closely to home. Like all the times he's teased me about being jealous, or that one time last month when Sharon was waiting for Adam to come pick her up for a date…

_Sharon came down from her bedroom and flitted into the family room, pausing to look into a mirror and put in her earrings. They were her mother's earrings, a pair of real pearls the size of my thumbnail. She looked at them, but then caught the sight of us in the reflection. I know she did, because I could see her in the glare on the TV screen._

_She turned around, and smirked. "Aw, don't you two look cozy," she said, and I couldn't tell if her remark was a snide one or a lighthearted one._

_We weren't too close together. Virgil just happened to have his arm on the couch cushion behind my head, and I just happened to be leaning back in the cough enough so that, with my feet on the coffee table, my head was angled slightly towards his body. We weren't even touching, but Sharon didn't seem to care about the difference._

_And, apparently, Virgil liked to blur the difference, too._

_That's when he chuckled and looped his arm around my shoulders, bringing my head onto his chest. "You bet! We're as cozy as a married couple, and you're jealous 'cause Adam won't cuddle with you like this!" Virgil said as his grip was becoming suffocating. His shirt was in my open mouth as I struggled to make him let go of me. My face must've been so red. Sharon looked all-knowing as Virgil turned the hold into a noogie. _

_I squirmed, and Sharon rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah." She grinned as the doorbell rang. "There's Adam, I'm gonna go. But Virgil?"_

"_Yeah?" he asked as he paused his movements but didn't relinquish his hold on me._

"_Next time, save the wresting for the bedroom."_

_And that's when he finally let go._

The beeping of the microwave sends the memory shattering to the floor. I blink three times rapidly, and then move to get out the bag of popcorn. Know our stomachs, I'm going to need to pop another bag. I put another in, time it for two minutes and forty-five seconds, and turn to dump the other Raisinet box into the other bowl I had gotten out. Then I grab a third bowl, pouring in a mountain of Doritos while popping begins to sound in my ears.

Virgil yells to me, "Where ever has my butler gone? I wanna play the movie!"

"He left for a smoke. Why don't you come in here and get your stuff yourself? Then you can play the movie faster," I shout back as I shuffle the fresh popcorn in with the first bowl of Raisinets. The microwave beeps, and I get out the other bag and do the same. Grabbing one bowl of popcorn and a Sunny D, I march back into the living room.

"That mine?" Virgil says hopefully.

"Nope, it's mine. Told you to get yours yourself," I say as I plop down. I stuff a handful of popcorn in my mouth, one of the Raisinets melting on my tongue and merging with the salty butter flavor. Virgil groans when he realizes that I'm not kidding. He forces himself up and marches off to the kitchen, where he turns with his own popcorn bowl, a Sunny D, and the bowl of Doritos I left behind. He places it all onto the coffee table prior to taking a seat closer to me than he was a moment ago. I involuntarily stiffen. The flashback moment in the kitchen resurfaces in my brain, like a low buzzing in the background as the movie's opening credits begin.

Virgil leans back, his shoulder brushing mine. I'll lose it if he ends up accidentally sliding into the crack in the two seat cushions between us. If he does, then his thigh will bump mine, and even though we're both fully clothed, I just _know _that I don't react well.

A third of the way through the movie, my patience flies out the door. This movie is old and familiar, and I can rehearse half the lines in it if I wanted to, but my focus is quickly leaving. Maybe it's because I'm so familiar with it… but no, I know that saying that would be a lie. Truth is, Virgil is being extremely distracting today. I can sense, and a few times catch in my peripheral vision, his eyes on me, or his head turning to glance my way. It's bothering me, because normally he's not like this. On every other occasion, he'd be utterly absorbed in whatever film we were watching. But now this time. And I hope to God that he's not acting different solely because he caught me coming out of the shower earlier.

With the first Ninja Turtle movie done, we pop in the next, and scarf down the remainder of the Doritos, as well as two more Sunny Ds each. Which, unfortunately, leaves us with no more Sunny D. I suddenly figure out why the price of the movies (counting in the 'second old movie free' policy Blockbuster had) hadn't added up to the two weeks' worth of money: it's because he spent the extra on all these snacks, just for us. And for my gum. It's in this moment that I realize exactly how true my statement earlier had been about him planning all this. He really went all-out, just for one little movie marathon. It's… touching, in a cheesy-funny way. I smile softly, and steal a glance at Virgil.

I find him looking at me, too. Again. And as my smile fades, one grows on his lips. I can't look away, now. "What?" he says.

I shake my head, forcing myself to look back at the screen. "Nothing."

Warmth swarms my shoulder. I turn to find his forearm resting there, and his face nearby. "Y'know, something's been bothering me," the mocha teen brings up.

"Like what?" I ask as I sidetrack myself with a finger in my mouth. I gnaw at one of my cuticles, peeling off a loose layer of skin. It tastes like the butter from the popcorn, laced with the Dorito spices.

He points down, and I follow the direction of his finger. It's aimed down at my leg. "When I saw something I shouldn't have earlier, I noticed that the scar where Jimmy shot you is pretty big. You didn't stretch the wound, did you?"

I wince. "The cast covered it up, but over the entry wound the doctor had to stitch me up a bit differently than usual because the bullet chipped part of my bone, and it lodged itself in my muscle. So, uh, they had to remove the splinter of bone and re-wire my muscle a bit in that spot. Nothing too big, just –"

"What?!" Virgil bursts out. He leans over, grabs the remote, and pauses the movie sometime during one of Donatello's rants. "That sounds pretty serious to me! Dammit, Richie, I didn't know it was that serious! Lemme see."

I tense. "Really, V, it's fine; all healed now! There's no need to –" but my words die in my throat as his hand falls on my belt loops. Heat surges to my cheeks and crotch so fast it makes me dizzy.

"I have to make sure, Rich," he says firmly, as he tugs insistently. With a joking smile, he says, "Now am I gonna have to pull your pants down, or are you gonna cooperate?"

I swallow hard. "I'll do it," I mumble. I undo the zipper and button before I can change my mind. Then I slide my pants down far enough so that the scar on my left thigh is visible. "There, see? All healed and fine, just a little big for one bullet because of the extra surgery. Told you, nothing major –" and once again my words evaporate as my vocal cords run dry when his hand reaches out and touches me again. The pads of Virgil's dark fingers graze the indented skin, deformed from stitches and burning metal, and still pink in the center since it hasn't been a full year yet and the tissue is still sensitive.

"God, Rich, it looks bad," he murmurs sadly. His fingers make one last concerned stroke around the diamond-with-a-circle-center scar, and then they retract back to his side. Goose bumps rise on my flesh, and I quickly bring my pants back up before Virgil can notice the telling bumps. As I redo my khaki jeans, Virgil mentions, "I wish I could've done something. I even told the psychiatrist how angry I was at myself and Jimmy and Nick for what happened. I shouldda been there with you, Richie. I should've used my powers to nab the gun from him. But I figured out what to do all too late, and I'm sorry."

I run my hand through my hair, my eyes focused ahead at the paused screen. I don't think we'll be playing the movie again any time soon. "Jeez, V, there's nothing to be sorry for. It's been months now, and there's been no permanent damage."

Virgil's shaking, I realize. I look at him finally, and his brown eyes burrow into mine. "There was so much blood, Richie. It was all over you. That's enough to leave damage of some sort."

I glance down at my lap, where my hands have clasped themselves. "So maybe I'm as afraid of guns now as you are. So maybe I shook it off too quickly because I didn't want to play the victim. But it's not serious, honest. Worse things have happened, bro, and I got through them just fine."

Like Madelyn peeking inside my head and finding out that I'm in love with Virgil, and Brainiac doing the same and using that information to strike against Virgil by using all his weaknesses. Or like when I thought Virgil was truly against me that time his father was kidnapped. In fact, the betraying feeling between the Brainiac incident and Virgil fighting me were the two times in my life when my stomach dropped so far and turned so icy that I wanted to throw it up in one giant ball of fear.

"Still," the black teen rumbles lowly, "I don't like it."

"You're not supposed to like it," I retort, "You're supposed to try and move beyond it."

"Like you did?"

I shrug. "Yeah, kind of."

"'Kind of'? Meaning you didn't get over it, did you?" he says sternly, his brows furrowing.

I sigh. "No, I didn't. But who would, if they were shot and have to see the mark on them every time they change clothes or get in the shower or go swimming?" I fold my arms over my chest. "But it doesn't matter now. Let's just have fun and finish our movie, okay?" I don't want to talk about his any more, because it'll only make me think about the fact that, because of my scar, Virgil touched the bare skin of my leg. And I shouldn't have liked it, should've only taken it as the concern from a friend, but I can't shake the tingling stab of pleasure that dully ran through me when his fingers were there, on my skin.

"Yeah, okay," Virgil complies, but I can tell that he still wants to say something else. But he respects my wishes and presses play, and throughout the remainder of the second Ninja Turtle movie, we don't say a word to each other.

We take a quick bathroom break after the second movies ends, the Sunny D having gone straight through us. While Virgil takes his turn in the bathroom, I clean up our snacking mess by tossing the plastic bottles in the recycling bin and shove the bowls in the dishwasher. Then I return to the living room, pop the third DVD into the player, and as I hear the door opening upstairs, I take out one of my packs of Black Jack and suck off the powder on the slab of gum as it slides between my lips and onto my tongue.

Chewing thoughtfully, I lick my lips and press play as soon as Virgil's seated once again beside me. Closer than usual, too. It's making me uncomfortable, because it's hard enough controlling my hormones in basic surroundings dealing with him, but when he's as much within reach as he is now… Well, it's insane, the mixture of emotions that consume me. It's like when I masturbate: guilt, lust, love, defense. Vicious circle. Sometimes, I really do hate being male. Because isn't it true that (most) girls can control themselves sexually? Better than guys can, at least? I've heard so. Wonder why that is? Hmm. My super-brain tells me it's because when girls are aroused, it's not shown to the entire world like a high-flying flagpole in the air.

Girls have it so easy.

I blow a bubble in my gum, and as it pops, the strong scent of sweet licorice floats to my nostrils.

"Hey, can I have a taste?" Virgil asks suddenly.

I look at him inquisitively. "I thought you didn't like black licorice? Said it tasted like how cigars smell?"

He shrugs. "I think I could learn to like it."

Now, that didn't sound like an innuendo at all, _no._ 'Course not. I fling a piece his way. "It tastes best after it's been chewed for a little while, so don't spit it out right away."

He looks between me and the piece of gum resting in his lap. "If you say so," he says, and then he leans over to me and plants a kiss on my mouth.

I stop mid-chew, my mind shutting off all the other production, being reduced to one-track thoughts like how I used to think in my pre-Metahuman days.

_What. The. Fuck?! _I mentally stutter. And then Virgil's tongue slides past my lips, digging deeper into my mouth, fishing around the cavern. I gasp, not sure what's going on, or why he's kissing me. And then I remember the gum, and notice how Virgil's scooping it up into his own mouth as he leaves mine and pulls back to his original sitting position. I stare, unblinking, my jaw's hinges going entirely slack.

He chews for a moment. "Hmm, you're right. It does taste better as ABC gum."

I want to hit him. So I do. I reach over and whack him upside the head as I repeat my initial thought when he kissed me. "What the_ fuck,_ Virg?!"

He simply laughs as he rubs the sore spot on his head. "What? I only did what you said."

"_You…_!" I'm about to curse him out, but something dawns on me. Something big and bright like a neon sign and zooming out to show me the entire picture, like a puzzle being completed. "Wait a sec. You've been doing all this on purpose! First you make an excuse to touch me, then you make an excuse to kiss me! And you have a reason for it, V, but I get the feeling that you're too scared to tell me what it is." I narrow my eyes at him, and he fidgets under my gaze. Then he gags.

"Gack! I think I swallowed the gum!"

"Serves you right for tricking me like that!" I snap back, an accusing finger jabbing him in the chest. "And faking choking won't work, bro. Tell me what the hell is going on in your head._ Now._"

Virgil sighs heavily and spits the purple-black gum out, proving me correct. "Dammit, Rich, I hate that you're such a brain."

"On the contrary, I think you love it. Face it, you're drawn to brainy people. Daisy's a brain, I'm a brain, you're a brain. A bunch of people around us are. But that's beside the point. Point is, you're avoiding the question, and the question is, what the hell are you up to?"

"Do you like me, Rich?" he says quietly, his eyes on his hands, which are picking nubs off the fabric in my couch. I'm taken aback.

"V…" I plead with irritation in my tone. I'd rather not confess. Ever, if I can. "Answer me."

Virgil connects our eyes. "I can't unless I know for sure that I wasn't misreading things."

"Why would you even want to read into anything at all?" I prod. I'm inwardly panicking, thinking I was somehow too obvious with my emotions in the past.

He fidgets again, eyes leaving mine. "Maybe Frieda was wrong. Maybe Sharon was right…"

"About what? Virgil, you're not making sense." I exaggerate my point with a broad, swooping hand motion.

"I know, I know," he grumbles. "It's just…" He brings his gaze back to me, and something in my heart jerks in attention at the nameless expression on his face. He takes a lengthy breath and launches into the most stressed ramble I've ever heard come out his mouth. "Frieda approached me one day, saying that we need to talk, and I joked that how can we break up if we never dated, and she smiled, but didn't laugh, and I thought, y'know, something's wrong here. She looked at me, and she asked me flat out if I noticed any changes in you, Rich. And I asked, 'what kinds of changes?' And she told me, 'the subtle flirting kind.' And I was all, 'huh?' And she rolled her eyes, and then went into a long rant about how I'm extremely oblivious and in denial and need to face the fact that my best friend has the hots for me and that I should hurry up and test myself to see if I have the hots for him, too, or else my friendship with him was going to fall apart. And I was confused, 'cause, like, what the hell was she talking about? But then I started watching you, Richie, and I saw. I saw how you blush at weird times and stare at me when you think I'm not lookin' and I saw how my own body was reacting when you did or said something that, now that I was looking for it, I found to be kinda borderline flirtatious, or entirely over the line. And then, while watching you, I noticed all kinda of other little things, things I never noticed before about you because I was too quick to make jokes or do something else. Like, when you started in on one of your scientific discovery rants, I started listening to your voice instead of your words, and I noticed how funny your voice is, in the good way. And it's so messed up, because when I hinted to Sharon that I thought you liked me and that I should act on it like Frieda said, she tore into me about Christian morals and how coming off like I was experimenting with you would make you hate me, and that she couldn't believe what it was I was implying. And when I dared her to tell me what she thought I was implying, she told me, 'You're implying that it'd be fine and dandy to ruin your friendship for nothing more than a hunch, and that it'd be okay to go against what we learn in church!' And I snapped, 'cause I didn't like the sound of either of those things. A surge of electricity singed my hair and I stormed out of the kitchen, which was where we were talking. And I didn't bring it up again until Frieda asked me yesterday if I did anything yet, and that's when I decided the hell with Sharon, I have to at least know what it is you feel and what it is _I _feel, because I'm just getting myself further and further in a hole."

The entire time he spoke, I sat in silence, listening intently to all four hundred seventy-eight words; I know because my mind automatically counted them, without me having to concentrate too hard on it. My eyes followed every single one of his animated hand gestures, which ranged from a rub at his neck to a run through his hair to a helpless open-armed shrug to clenched fists. His eyes barely looked at me the whole time, and his facial expressions kept altering from one to another, a few of the expressions being the polar opposite of the ones preceding them.

He sighs. "Okay, I'm done now," he says, like an engine that's run out of water to steam. "You can g'head and tell me off. I'm ready for it."

But I don't want to tell him off. Quite the opposite; I want to smile. So I do, gentle and relieved. "Nah, I'm feeling merciful today. And I guess, for all of that trouble, you earned an answer to your question earlier about me liking you." He holds his breath, his thick lower lip being sucked into his mouth. Then, I break his breathing when I reply, "Yes, Virg, I like you. More than I can dare to say." So much more. The 'like' does account for the truth. And the truth is, I think I love him. Wholeheartedly, not a ditzy 'in love' that can fade, but the kind of love that's unrelenting and unconditional. But I don't want to dig that deeply yet. Drabbling in that stuff is too big for me. It's more geared towards adults with surer minds than us teenagers.

The like also doesn't account for how much I like him in the sexual sense. How much I want to feel him around me, with one of us inside the other, I don't care who, so long as we're together in that way. A spike of warmth to the member in my boxers makes itself notable at the very thought of it. I shake the sensation away as I await Virgil's response.

He responds by inching closer and saying, "Good, 'cause I was afraid that what I found in that kiss might not've been mutual."

"I was just stunned, V," I whisper as he comes steadily nearer. "'S not like I was rejecting you." I could never do that, nor would I want to. After all, I'm the one who wanted him first. I'd be an idiot to push away one of my less-sexual fantasies come true.

Virgil's hand winds up in the short yellow hair at the back of my head. His fingers lightly massage the base of my neck as he brings his face closer, the movie to the side of us completely being ignored. "Nothing bad will come of this, right? 'Cause I don't want to lose my best friend and teammate over a hookup."

"Nothing bad," I promise, my heart leaping to my throat. I can't believe this is happening, I really can't. "I'd think _you'd_ leave_ me_, bro. No offense, but you don't seem like the gay type," I tease as his lips touch down on the corner of my mouth.

"And you are?" he teases back. He lowers his head to speak against my neck, his breath hot and moist on my skin. My heart races. "'Sides, I've been thinking about this possibility for a while now. It took nearly losing you to other means and Frieda bringing me out of my denial in order to see it. Because, seriously, Richie: what girl, or any other person for that matter, can deal with me twenty-four seven and not get sick of me like you can?"

He kisses down to my collar bone, but I'll be damned if he doesn't have a point. Because, as stupid as it sounds, I even find his annoying qualities charming. I get fed up with him on rare occasions, but those occasions haven't occurred in an extremely long while. And even then our fights didn't last long, because after the episode we had during the Slipstream problem, Daisy clearly pointed out to me how much Virgil and I need each other to be happy, and Virgil realized the same thing on his own, long before my own stubborn ass did.

"Yeah, okay," I say with a breathy voice, "You've convinced me. Now stop talking and let your mouth work elsewhere."

He chuckles. "Jeez, Rich, talking dirty to me already? Didn't know that was how you rolled."

I blush minutely and lift his head up to kiss him. "No, I'm just making quips like you tend to do. Guess I fail epically at it."

"You basically do," he agrees and returns the kiss tenfold. I fall backwards, and the mocha teen hovers between my legs as his tongue invades my mouth to find it's playmate. I fumble to reach over and find the remote on the coffee table. My knuckles graze the buttons, and I take the control in my hand and shut off the television, all the while being careful not to break the movement between our mouths. Annoying movie gone, I concentrate on scaling Virgil's strong back with my hands. He arches into me, his shirt rising purposefully so that I may feel his heated skin under my fingers.

A tiny, whiny voice in the back of my head starts to argue with me again. _'Aren't you just a little bit worried how fast this make out session came to be? Don't you care that Virgil could be using you?'_

_He would never use me like that, _I think in riposte. _He cares about me. We've been like brothers since we met. More so than that, even, because brothers don't call each other in the middle of the night just to say that they can't sleep like Virgil's done to me. And brothers don't kiss, obviously._

'_Still, you can't deny the fact that this is a bad idea from the start. Is it really worth it to have him now when things might go downhill later on?'_

_Shut up, you, _I mentally frown at my own conscience, _Because it _is_ worth it. Even if he regrets it later and tells me so, and wants to go back to being only friends, I can handle that, because I'll have this memrory to look back on._

The whiny voice seems to sigh. _'Fine, suit yourself, genius. But don't go crying to Mommy when I'm proven correct.'_

_You won't be proven anything but wrong, _I retort, _Because I'm going to make sure of it. If I can, I'll do everything to make sure that Virgil sticks by me._

'_If you say so,'_ is the reply, and then the voice of my conscience drifts back to my subconscious where it belongs. Stupid super-brain; makes me feel like I'm turning into a schizophrenic.

Virgil leans into me, his hip pressing through his jeans to bump mine, and a small moan builds in my throat, but is smothered by Virgil. He slides down and runs his hand down the length of my chest before slipping his hand under my double shirts to tickle my navel while he nips at my neck with lip-covered teeth. My eyes closed long ago, without me having realized it. I force them open to glance down at the pile of dreadlocks hovering above my torso, and I can't hold back the grin that spreads on my lips or nervous laughter that bubbles out.

Amused, Virgil picks himself up, one hand weighing down on the sofa cushion as the other teases a nub under the confines of my shirt. He whispers by my ear, "What's so funny?"

Tingling sensations ride up and down my body from the stimulation that turns my nipples hard, among other things. I peek over my glasses at him. "Just thinkin' about how you're awfully eager for a beginner. And about how impossible this scene is."

"Is it really that impossible?" he wonders as he shifts to pull off both my shirts, and then his own navy blue one. "I never wanted to admit it to myself, but I've always found you attractive in that nerdy sort of way."

"Gee, thanks," I say sarcastically as I scoot back and pop myself up to meet him. "And lemme guess: you finally admitted it to yourself when you saw my nearly naked body today."

"That would be spot-on, actually," Virgil grins crookedly as he shifts again, probably not sure where to go. "Hmm, kinda crowded."

I raise an eyebrow at him, noticing that as he's saying this, his eyes are scanning my exposed skin. "Are you suggesting we get of the couch and move elsewhere?"

He smiles. "Well, now that you mention it, that sounds like a good idea."

Part of me is surprised that he's being so open about this. Maybe it's my doubts talking again. Whatever. I'll go as far as Virgil wants to, as much as he lets me. This must be weird for him, because he normally went towards the straighter side of the fence where figures with breasts and vaginas lingered. But hey, if he's crossing to my side, I'm not going to complain.

So we clamber up the stairs, taking or discarded tops with us, and retreat to my room. We don't bother to turn on the light. The second the lock is turned, much like my towel from a couple hours ago, our shirts are dropped, forgotten. I tackle Virgil onto my bed, glad that he suggested this, because now I'm no longer restricted by the back of the sofa or the threat of rolling off the narrow side.

My fingers make nimble work of undoing his jeans, while my mouth attacks the side of his neck. Virgil moans, a throaty sound I'm not used to, one that sounded even better than the moans I imagined while pleasuring myself. A strong stab of arousal shoots down and collects between my legs, different than when I'm alone. Extremely separate, yet positive. I smile despite myself, teeth rubbing against Virgil's collar bone. I can taste the sweat already forming on his chest.

The darker youth beneath me gasps as I kick off my own pants and move to grind fresh against him, the friction between our undergarments a tad painful, but not distasteful. For a passing moment, I spot a trace of uncertainty on Virgil's face. I hesitate, wondering if that means he's withdrawing his choice. But as soon as it's gone, he's wrapping his arms around my neck and yanking me down as he thrusts against me, earning a guttural moan from me as that same painfully addicting friction is made. I hear myself panting, and know that I feel hot enough that I should start sweating, and yet I can't seem to connect myself to these sensations as we set a pace, forward and back, like yin and yan in a timeless dance, and just as visually contrasting.

Shaking hands catch my glasses as they fall off my face, and set them on my end table as the owner of these hands reach to shove me to the side. We switch roles, and now Virgil's lingering above me, his whole body lightly twitching under his skin. "Something's up with my powers, man," he hisses lowly.

I wrap my thighs around his hips, which are stationed nearly out of my reach as he tries his hardest not to touch me, and yet is refusing to pull away. A miniscule electric shock courses throughout my body as soon as I latch on, and suddenly I understand precisely how connected Virgil's abilities are to his emotions. When excited in this manner, apparently he lights up with more than simply sexual pleasure. I'll have to keep this in mind… for both precaution and intrigue for future use.

"It's okay, see?" I assure him and I bring him back down, wanting so badly to feel our chests together again, his heart battering in front of my own. "You can't hurt me."

"I-I hope you're right," he sputters as my hands reach down to shimmy his boxers from his frame. He sucks in air as soon as his erection is free. I'm ashamed to say that I'm a little prideful of the fact that _I'm _the one who got his lower self so worked up. I'm also ashamed to say that, upon taking a peek between us and moving my eyes past the trail of dark curls beginning just below his belly button, I find out he's larger than I am. Thankfully only in length and not also in width, or else I'd feel like my Irish/Viking blood failed me, specifically the latter.

Virgil helps me out of my own final garment, our socks having been shoved off somewhere in the process of our pants beforehand.

And then we're falling onto our sides, hands gripping shoulders and our legs tangling together as we rock our hips into each other, testing what feels best. We breathe each other's scents in, familiar but changed by the added scent of spicy sweat and pre-orgasm fluids. Out of habit, I bring a hand down from one of Virgil's shoulders to wrap my pale fingers around what would normally be only myself, but opt instead to grip Virgil's member, which responds with a small throb. A noise spills from Virgil's mouth that's in no language that has a name. But the word that follows the sound is clearly my name. "Richie…"

I run my thumb over his tip, and follow a path down the shaft, as slow as I do to myself when I start out. He jerks forward unthinkingly, his forehead resting where my neck meets my shoulder. His damp dreads fall onto my back, and although his shoulder closest to the mattress is beginning to press awkwardly into the side of my chest, I keep pumping my hand, because I want the mocha teen to know how much I yearn to make him feel wanted.

One of his hands clamp down on my hip, his own pelvis matching my hand's movements as if it's second nature. I'll probably have fingerprint-shaped bruises there in the morning. But, oddly enough, it doesn't hurt, so I could care less.

With a fast squeeze and thrust of my hips, Virgil comes with a weak cry and a spark on my fingertips as the fluid runs out. I can feel my body reacting to the sound automatically, my member growing more rigid as waves of white-hot tingles ghost my skin. I wipe my dirty hand on my bed, not caring that I'll have to wash my comforter later when my parents aren't around to see why.

Virgil rolls onto his back and catches his breath, eyes closed in bliss as his length grows softer. I prop myself up on my elbow and kiss his forehead, salt on the edges of my taste buds. His eyes fly open, chocolate brown orbs gazing as me. I'm surprised to see less lust in them than there should be. "Wow, Rich. I think I love you."

I know he's joking, but I take the words to heart anyway. I steal the words he said to me a couple Christmases ago. "Back at ya, bro."

He smiles tiredly, but then his eyes wander down my body and rest below my waist. I flush as he brings them back to my face. "What about you?"

I bite my lip. Every pore in my body wants to answer that question by spreading his legs and showing him how guys substitute one hole for another, but I'm afraid he won't want to go that far so soon. It's a big thing, doing _that. _Most homosexual couples don't, because they say it hurts badly, leaves you sore. But then again, lots do, because they say it's pure ecstasy and leaves you wanting more. Personally, I don't want to risk it unless Virgil is one-hundred percent sure he can handle it. It would be amazing, to make love to him. But I have to be positive that he wants it.

"There is… something I want to try, but only if you're absolutely willing, V," I say gently.

He looks up as me, eyes full of trust. "What is it?"

Carefully, I break it down for him, the dynamics of full-out gay sex, trying my best not to disgust him, and all the while reminding him that he doesn't have to feel obligated to do this just because I'm his friend or because I need to get off, because I can always get off in another way if he doesn't want to.

He blinks once, twice, and then the oddest thing happens: he grins widely. "Well, where's the lube?"

"Like I said, you don't have to feel obliga– wait, what? You serious?" I cut myself off to say.

He nods, his palm cupping the side of my jaw. "I can take it, Rich. I'm not Dakota's number-one protector for nothing. If anything, I should be topping you," he jokes, ever equipped to lighten the mood, namely my own storm cloud of emotions.

"Are you sure you know what you're getting yourself into?" I murmur as softly as I can with the ache I have in my lower body, my muscles tensing all over from neglected contact and lack of release. I've never made myself wait this long; never had to.

"More like _who _I'm letting into me," he jokes lightly. He pulls me onto him, being stronger than I am, especially when I'm in this state. His voice rushes past my ear, "It's okay, Richie, honest. I want you to." His thumb trails along behind my neck, wiping away the oily sweat there.

I don't think he has an inkling about how much I love him. It should be a crime for him to be so willing when he probably doesn't comprehend the entire prospect of what this will do to our relationship, to me. Or how heartbroken I'll be if we do this and then something sour slices between us in the future.

But I want this immensely and with such intensity that part of my brain isn't even hesitating because it's commanding my arm to reach over Virgil and withdraw a small tube of lubrication from my end table drawer. It's a little thing I bought a while ago for personal needs, not at all thinking I was ever in a million years going to use it on someone else, much less on my best friend and superhero-ing partner.

The trust in V's eyes doesn't dissipate as I ease a finger into him, and then another, and then another. Other things flicker across his face – discomfort, curiosity, surprise, and finally pleasure as I stumble across a cluster of nerves – while I stretch him. His legs are widespread around me, heels of his feet sinking into my mattress as I lean over him and prepare to switch out my three digits for my shaft. "Relax, Virgil," I mutter huskily, but make sure to keep the tenderness in my voice. His dark brows lift from their knitted position and he takes a deep breath outward, his muscles loosening. I take this opportunity to dive in to the hilt, overwhelming heat and pressure and _ohmigodtherearenowordsforthis _eating at my innards with a fiery passion.

The rest of my brain shuts off as solely sensation sweeps in and takes over.

I hear Virgil grunting in rapture and discomfort, his legs linking at the ankle around me. I feel his dull nails raking down my arms, sending icy lines across my burning skin that melt into licking flames. And then, _oh,_ the sounds I hear coming from myself and my new lover and I start to move, sliding the slippery path out and then grinding back in again, over and over and over and over.

Steadily, the timing on my thrusting shortens as it becomes faster and faster, jamming in all the way and pulling out almost entirely, all the while feeling Virgil arch into me, his broader, milk chocolate colored chest rubbing raw against my creamy vanilla colored one, my name on his lips and his member becoming stiff again as my lower stomach collides with it.

Somewhere in the hub of the my name being called and my own feral moans, I hazily note that the angle I'm positioned at is precisely the correct one that causes Virgil's prostrate to be hit in a way that overloads him with enough bliss to call out my name in such a way. But this note is short-lived, because my brain barely has enough time to return before I skyrocket towards my climax.

All too soon, I curl inwards and bite down on something firm as my hands cling to the middle of Virgil's back. Electricity from V's end sets me alight like fireworks as I feel myself burst from the inside out. I fill my lover with my seed, and against my stomach, more liquids are spilled from Virgil as soon as the words, "I love you," tumble from my lips in a slurred whisper.

I collapse, sticky sweat cooling on my body as I lie on top of the strong body I hold in such high regard. Weak fingers lift themselves from my shoulders and start stroking my hair, even though I'm still buried deep within the owner of said fingers.

As soon as I have enough strength to withdraw myself (slowly so not to hurt my lover), Virgil poses the exhausted question, "Did you mean that?"

I open my eyes and glance sideways at him. "Mean what, V?" I murmur, my voice hoarse from breathing so heavily.

"What you said when you came. I heard you say that you loved me," he states flatly, seriously. The sort of tone he uses when he's demanding an answer from an unresponsive villain.

I don't want to be the villain here, but I also don't want him to tell me that he doesn't tell the same as soon as I admit the truth. But I can't lie to him, either. So, with a shaking breath, I confess for a second time tonight, "Yeah, I meant it. But please don't get weird on me or mad, okay?" I pause to advert my eyes. "I've loved you for so long now that I can't even remember when it started, and I've lusted for you probably for considerably shorter, but enough that the two kind of merge sometimes."

"…Hmm."

I whip my head back in his direction. "'Hmm'? That's the only reply I get? 'Hmm'?! Jeez, Virg, I know I said not to get weird or mad, but have a little more reaction when I'm spilling my guts out to you."

He visibly flinches. "Sorry, didn't mean for it come out that way. It was more of a content 'hmm' than a condemning one." In my silence, he adds, "And I only said it because I'm confused. Don't take this the wrong way, Rich, but I don't know if I feel the exact same just yet. I know we just fucked, and I know I liked it and will want to do it again some other time, and I know that I'll always love you in some way, but…"

"But the type of love I'm referring to is greater than what you feel," I sum up with a hint of devastation creeping into the undertones of my voice. I knew that he wouldn't love me anywhere near how I love him, but it still wounds me to hear it spoken aloud from him. I sigh. "It's okay, V. I'm satisfied with knowing that I can give you my love openly now, without being shoved aside. 'Sides, it's good to know where we stand."

He nods, and turns onto his side to face me, his arms extending to offer me shelter in them. I crawl over and burrow my nose against the warmth of his chest, and relish the fact that his hands are not on my lower back like our previous friendly embraces, but rather in the dip of my lower back, just above my butt.

I snake one arm around his ribs, my nails scratching lightly up and down his spine. I noticed the ring of dark dots on V's shoulder, and I hold back a possessive grin as I comprehend the fact that I left those marks with my teeth when I came.

Something occurs to me, a sliver of dismay making it's way into my chest. "I hope my mom doesn't come home in this moment," I mumble into Virgil's torso, "'Cause all I wanna do is sleep, and would rather not have to explain why I'm locked in my room and your shoes are by the front door."

He laughs, his chest caving in and expanding rapidly in front of my nose. "Yeah, because it's might suspicious that I'm not anywhere else in the house, which means I _must_ be in your locked bedroom with you."

I laugh as well, but the sound is a bit more pitiful. "Yeah. That wouldn't go over well at all."

Virgil buries his nose in my golden hair. "But I say you shouldn't worry about it. Even if she did come home, she respects you enough not to pry. And as for you dad… he's on the night shift tonight, right? And it won't be changed like the first time I came here?"

I'm about to nod, but then I remember that his face is so close to the top of my head that I might biff him. So I shrug instead. "I'm mostly sure. But to be more sure, I can make Backpack hack into the shift schedule at his job and alter it so that it remains unchanged," I smirk.

There's amazed amusement in Virgil's tone. "You can do that?"

"You bet your black hinny I can," I retort as I look up into his face. There's a small, close-lipped smile there, and a dim twinkle in his eyes.

"Well then, magic-machine-making-man, do your stuff," and he gestures to the open air with one hand while the other mildly strokes the base disks of my spine.

I call out the command to Backpack, and after a few beeps and blips, the task is done, and I can snuggle back into Virgil's arms to doze prior to cleaning up our little escapades. The last thing I sense as the darkness of sleep rushes up on me is the languid smooch Virgil places on the center of my forehead.

* * *

**A/N: Now, before any more people comment on it, I would like to add the info that yes, I do realize how ofte people make Virgil top instead (I even had V joke about this aspect), but here's my reasoning: One, I read two amazing drabbles on LJ that featured a topping Richie, and I have to say, it was intriguing. Two, since Virgil's not very gay to begin with (and Richie is; we all know about his orientation in the original DC comic), it makes sense that he wouldn't know exactly how to go about things, right? So it'd then be left to Richie, right? And three, I have the tendency to make usual ukes into semes. Because difference is good. ;D**


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